


Thirst Trapping

by colectiva



Category: Open Heart (Visual Novels)
Genre: F/M, Language, M Receiving, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, female receiving, maturbation, mostly just...self love, oh fantasising of:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:00:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28380582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colectiva/pseuds/colectiva
Summary: Ethan has grown pathetically attached to scrolling through Mariana’s Pictagram.
Relationships: Ethan Ramsey/Main Character (Open Heart), Ethan Ramsey/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 10





	Thirst Trapping

**Author's Note:**

> It is what the title says, a good ole fashion thirst trap.

**His burning eyes remind him of the late hour and glances at the lower corner of his laptop’s screen.**

_3:04AM_

The timestamp stares back at Ethan, scolding him for letting the evening get away from him. He removes his glasses and places them on the bed next to him, running a hand down his face. The older physician attempts to rub the exhaustion from his eyes and shake thoughts of delayed imaging and acute intracerebral haemorrhaging.

His apartment is quiet, save for the soft whirring of his computer’s fan and the shuffling of his bedsheets. Usually, he would welcome the desolate nature of his home, a sharp contrast to the never-ending, fast-paced haste of the hospital.

But tonight it’s unnerving.

The thought sneaks up on him when he turns to look at the empty spot next to him, looking to retrieve his glasses and instead finds an odd thought nagging him.

He’s restless in his _solitude_.

He doesn’t know where the idea stems from, but he blames it on the late hour and his weary mind. Pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger, he attempts to shove the thoughts he’s worked hard at taming over the years. Turning his attention back to the screen, he watches the cursor blink at him – taunt him.

Ethan can’t type another word.

He saves his work, closes the document and moves to shut the lid of his laptop before he stops himself. The internet browser is still open, cluttered with tabs of his research and references. He moves to exit the browser completely, but finds himself opening a new tab.

Ethan’s hands flex over the keyboard. Furling and unfurling as if he can, by some miracle, relieve the itch to visit the inane website. He’s ashamed at the number of times he’s frequented the website this weekend.

Pathetic and slightly disturbed, he thinks.

It started from a place of genuine curiosity. Ethan wanted to see what a real Pictagram profile looked like, not the orchestrated performance their patient had curated. Somewhere down the line, the diagnostician forgot his initial goal and found himself scrolling through years’ worth of photographs on Mariana’s profile. 

Then, while going through her pictures, the dull the ache Ethan usually feels when he thinks of her wanes – little by little, photograph after photograph. It’s almost as if she’s right there with him, keeping him company and gracing him with her presence.

It’s addictive – to feel like he gets to cheat their agreement to stay professional.

With every new picture, he feels like he knows her a little better – like he’s a little bit closer to her, despite his attempts to keep her at arm’s length.

Photographs litter her feed in no particular order, without rhyme or reason, much unlike Gywneth’s perfectly composed timeline.

Mariana’s photographs aren’t professional and, if he’s being honest, a little poorly taken. There’s no aesthetically soothing symmetry or eye-catching colours.

They’re just – her.

On his first night, he stumbles across a picture of her and her two older siblings, sitting on a bench at a waterfront in Miami. Her brother has an arm around her sister Carina who looks fed up and world-weary. The brother’s smile is wide and squints in the harsh sunshine, reminding Ethan of Mariana’s own. He’s pointing at the camera while Mariana sits at the other end, contorting her face into a silly expression and sticking her tongue out.

 _Los Tres Chiflados_ 😜 _!_

He reads the caption and checks the date, he estimates it must be sometime before she started medical school. It’s trivial, but they remind him of a colour gradient sitting together like that, starting with the rich, deep olive tan of her eldest brother, Carina sitting in the balance of the two.

Comments, from what he assumes are her brother’s and sister’s profiles, ask her to remove the image.

He thinks of the obscurities of genetics after finding a photo of Mariana with her parents – how all three of their children are a perfect mesh of the two.

Ernesto and Ylette stand at either side of Mariana, who is drenched from the bottle of champagne she’s holding in her hand. She definitely has her father’s eyes, her mother’s smile and dark, thick hair. Her parents are beaming, hugging whatever part of her they can reach. There’s a sheet of paper in her mother’s hand, the one she’s hoisting in the air.

_I’m in!!!! Miller School of Medicine, ready or not!_

Ethan wonders why she’s drenched in champagne. Was it an accident or was this planned by her family?

Did she find out by mail first? Why didn’t she get an email as most students would today?

Where is her brother? He doesn’t seem to crop up much in the rest of her photos.

Was her haircut a recent decision?

He wishes he could ask her these things.

Ethan frowns when he realizes it might be a little strange to pose these types of questions out of the blue, especially if they’re trying their best to keep their relationship strictly professional.

On the second night, he returns under the pretence of wanting to learn more about Mariana: The Medschool Student.

There are copious shots of textbooks, laptop screens and anatomy worksheets with terrible grainy filters ruining the image. In one picture, he spots the corner of Diagnostic Principles and his stomach flips.

He tries to conceal the excitement he feels when he thinks about the choices that led her to where she is now – that somehow, unknown to him, Ethan had already been present in the junior fellow’s life.

Washed out pictures of the university’s campus.

Fewer pictures of her family members.

Every so often a picture of her face would pop up, either one with a soft look on her face - so close he can count the freckles on her nose, focusing on the darkest one on her cheek.

Majority of the photos of Mariana, usually taken by someone else, are of her pulling faces.

Videos of nights out with her friends crop up too. He watches her take shots of neon-coloured liquor in loud, dark nightclubs. In one particular video, she’s wearing the emerald top that caught his eye her first night in Donahue’s.

She blows kisses to the camera, mouths along to the song until one of her friends interrupts her and pulls the phone out of her hand. He finds himself smiling, chuckling softly at the endearing sight.

“ _Throw that shit back!”_

And dances – the only way that could make Dr Ramsey’s face flush.

He quickly clicks away and focuses on regulating his breathing, heart thundering in his chest. He becomes highly aware that his heart working overtime will soon make his blood rush, lower and lower –

But that’s quickly remedied.

This is when he decides to call it a night after skimming the caption:

_This fool._

He has a dark beard, perfectly coiffed black hair and wide grin. The man is leaning into the kiss Mariana places at the corner of his mouth.

Who is he? A former boyfriend, most definitely from the way Mariana writes about him in her captions and from the way they’re seen embracing more often than not.

Ethan realises the man appears in a few more photos over the year and decides to shut his computer.

Tonight, the older physician has no pretence, no excuse, no ulterior facade – except to ease the ache blooming in his chest. Ethan convinces himself if he can see her smile, maybe he’ll be able to get some rest and rid himself of this anxiety.

His fingers have a life of their own, as soon as he types in the first ‘p’ the browser mockingly reminds Ethan that it has Mariana’s user handle memorized.

Ethan’s breath catches in his throat, frozen as his eyes land on the most recent set of photos. She must have uploaded them earlier in the day while he was busy working away.

He groans, tossing his head back against the headboard and brings his hands to cover his face. Trying to stop his shallow, shaky breaths and pathetically peeks through his fingers to confirm he’s not imagining it.

The set of photographs are distinct from the rest on her feed. They’re high quality and beautifully colour-corrected – making her eyes even more painful to drink in than they normally would.

He inhales deeply, fingers finding their way past his hairline – tangling and tugging harshly at the chestnut-coloured locks.

She can’t be real.

 **MarianaEsq93:** _Cape Cod weekend spam incoming!!! I apologise in advance, but Kyra brought her camera and said I was her “muse”._

There’s one particular photo that draws his attention, Adam’s apple bobbing as he struggles to swallow – struggles to _think_.

It’s a near close-up of Mariana, sun-kissed skin and her dark hair is out of its usual up-do. The saltwater makes her windswept tresses look even messier, his eyes trace the column of her neck down to her bare shoulders.

And the look she’s giving the camera – Ethan takes a moment to swallow again and exhales unevenly.

The look she gives the camera is nothing like the silly, candid expressions Mariana usually wears.

Her expression is soft, lips slightly parted where the pink of her tongue peeks between her teeth. Her right hand rests against her chin, thumbnail caught between the sharp crest of her canine. An unfamiliar emotion stirs inside him. Jealousy mingles with melancholy. A nostalgic unease settles as Ethan zeros in on her fingers pressing against the pink of her lips.

Odd to feel jealous of someone else’s fingers.

The horizontal white and blue stripes of her string bikini pull taut against the rise of her breasts. Flecks of stray sand cling to her goose-bumped skin, down the valley of her cleavage.

Odd to feel jealous of rogue specks of sand.

Ethan tears his eyes away and shame leaves its burn across his face. He feels the prickle of sweat beads forming at the nape of his neck.

His gaze lands on the caption.

_Focus on me._

Should he be looking at his peer, his colleague, his mentee, this way? Even if they do have an amorous history. He shuts his eyes, hoping to reclaim his composure and react a regular individual would. But behind his close eyelids dances the memory of Mariana’s skin. Ethan’s chest tightens at the recollection of her warmth in his bed. Slightly panicked, he immediately fumbles with the computer, shutting its lid with a decisive _snap_. 

Ethan decides social media is pointless and he will be deleting his profile tomorrow morning as soon as he regains his senses.

The darkness of his bedroom and the stillness of the evening intensifies – all he can hear are his shaky breaths and the wild slamming of his heart against his ribcage, his pulse point painfully jumping.

Alone with his thoughts, he can barely fight off the most obscene ones from the exhaustion wearing him down and he knows what comes next, begrudgingly he begins to feel the stiffness growing in his pyjama bottoms.

He hold his breath, heels of his palms pressing into his eyes – willing away the heat of his arousal radiating from his face, neck, forearms and stomach. Ethan forces himself to think of his research, the mundane tasks on his to-do list later today at the hospital, the workout he has planned tomorrow –

 _Oh fuck_ , the workout. Mariana saying she’s motivated to look good naked, and he groans out loud, catching himself by surprise. His eyes snap open and makes an executive decision to go to bed. He shuffles further into the sheets and rests his head on his pillow; he turns sideways, awkwardly avoiding the evident rise in the sheets.

If he forces himself to sleep, this entire nightmare will be over and tomorrow Ethan can look still Mariana in the eye – he thinks.

Instead, Ethan lays still for what feels like hours and still struggles to get his heart rate under control. The stiffness he’s been trying to ignore winds tighter and tighter, demanding his attention.

The arousal pooling in his lower abdomen sends irregular, thrilling shudders through him.

When Ethan closes his eyes, his mind betrays him and reels images he’s scrolled through the last few evenings, the video of her rolling her hips seamlessly. His mind becomes foggier and foggier, the heat behind his eyelids a delicious addition to the warm waves rolling over him. He tries and fails to think of anything else – the mementos Mariana has left behind are engrained and overriding his usual most private fantasies.

The devastating final blow.

 _Focus on me_.

The soft pout of her lips, the roundness of her breasts and her sensitive skin, her tongue peeking through her teeth and that coquettish, heavy-lidded gaze.

It’s the same one that she gave Ethan in her bedroom after the hearing, peeling off each article of clothing – painfully, slowly.

Shrugging off the white blazer, wiggling out of her trousers, unclasping her bra – running the back of her hand down the dip of her waist before hooking her thumbs into the string of her underwear.

His erection is nearly painful at this point, he’s sure his precum is gradually dampening his flannel bottoms.

It’s the same one that resembles the split second their eyes meet before her lips wrap around –

“ _Shit_ ,” Ethan abruptly sits up and knocks his head against his headboard. The desire to have Mariana in his bed, her bed – any bed – is too much. Hell, he’d take a study surface at this point, and the thought springs renewed illicit imagery of taking her in his former office.

He thinks he’s doing a poor job of fighting this overwhelming _need_ tugging at his navel, begging – pleading – for him to give in. And he wants to.

Oh, he so badly wants to.

Ethan knows he shouldn’t, he knows no good can come from the instant gratification of giving in to the carnal longing uncomfortably straining his pants and sheets. But there’s the part of his brain that whispers it’s okay, that he just needs to get it out his system to begin to get over the junior fellow.

His eyes are clenched shut, he can hear how laboured his breathing has become. Mariana has him acting as if he’s just completed a triathlon, bursting out of the sea and gasping for purchase.

The temptation is too much. The memory of her soft skin pressing against his for the first time is too much. That _fucking_ picture of her is _too much_.

Before he has a chance to change his mind again, Ethan impulsively delves past the elastic of his underwear and wraps a hand around the warm heat of his erection. He feels the drops of accumulated precum against his knuckles and lets out a deep, guttural groan.

“Oh _fuck_ ,” he muffles the sound against the back of his other hand. Coming to stroke himself fully once, twice, three times – building up a familiar rhythm. Relief and desperation tangle at the base of his spine, hips bucking to meet each pump of his hand.

_Want. Need. More._

He frees himself from the restriction of his underwear and bottoms.

It’s her body pressed against the window of his bedroom, his teeth grazing her naked skin lower, lower, lower. It’s her whimpering for his mouth, tongue, fingers. It’s the memory of her taste against his lips, hips thrashing and hands tangled deep in his hair.

Her hot, open-mouthed kisses against his navel and fingernails raking the inside of his thigh. A curious, excited hand determined to learn him as she moves it up and down his length. Her eyes meet his, lips grazing over his glistening head in the soft light of her room and her tongue – that same pink tongue – peeks out and takes agonizing, tentative licks.

Ethan feels close, the ripples of pleasure wash over him in unexpected intervals. He can’t decipher what makes Mariana so intoxicating, he knows it’s not just how deeply attracted he is to her – it’s the way she quirks the corner of her mouth when he says something snarky or the look on her face when she thinks no one’s watching while she contemplates something particularly challenging.

But he can’t pinpoint just one thing.

And, _God_ , he just wants her. All of her.

The supple flesh of her backside, the way her breasts pinch in the chill of his room, how ready, wet and waiting she is for him the first time he –

Ethan tosses his head back in another loud moan.

The aching flame inside him spreads everywhere, until the nostalgia of her intimacy leaves him scorching.

His hand is working faster, the tight feeling in his balls returns and the smallest croak escapes him.

It’s when he remembers the way she turns around on her bed, his chest flush against her back – guiding his hands to her hips and commanding him: “ _Like this”_ – that he unravels completely.

A tidal wave of euphoric release crashes over him, hips bucking to meet every last needy stroke until his hand finally slows. His eyes are tightly clenched as he pants out his last chorus of moans.

He feels a thin sheen of sweat on his forearms, under his shirt and face. Ethan quietly tries to catch his breath, reaching to remove his top and clean himself up. Feeling the unwelcome burn of shame to his face, Ethan quickly stands up and makes for the bathroom – the guilt stirring in the pit of his stomach.

While the older doctor busies himself with a shower, he’s unaware that somewhere across town, earlier in the night, the junior fellow stirs at the vibration and ping of her phone.

Rolling over, through bleary eyes Mariana grips the device off her nightstand and winces at the display’s harsh light.

A large grin breaks across her face when she sees the notification banner and the timestamps.

> **DrEthanRamsey liked your post.  
>  Now**

She has an inkling what picture it might be, but nothing compares to the smugness she feels when she realises she’s right – and at 3:15AM no less.

Quickly, her fingers move over the keyboard and hits send. Before opening Kyra’s chat and sending:

> _You’re right. It worked._

When Ethan returns from his shower, towelling off his hair, he feels the exhaustion taking over his muscles. He moves to check his phone off his side table, wondering how late it is and if he should just pack, and head for the gym right away.

Instead, he freezes as dread freefalls into the pit of his stomach.

Mariana’s messages stare back at him.

> **MarianaEsq93:** trouble sleeping, Dr Ramsey?  
> Thanks for the like anyway😜.   
> See you later!  
>  **43 minutes ago.**

Scrambling to open the absurd application on his phone he let out a frustrated growl when his fear is confirmed.

The little heart at the bottom of her photo – that fucking photo – is filled out in an obnoxious red.

He must have accidentally clicked it when he was scrambling to shut his laptop.

Ethan drops to the bed, humiliation burning his neck and ears. He buries his face in his hands – he just knows today is going to be a long day.


End file.
